"Very well, again! 'Gad, how Plato would have loved you! But see
here, you most uncommon of little bodies! I want just such a daughter
as you are. My heart is desolate. All that I loved have passed away!
Will you--will you come and keep house for me, like you did for old
Stillinghast? Come--come, tell me at once; I am old and tottering,"
said the lawyer, trying to twinkle away a tear from his large gray eyes.

"Oh, dear me! dear, kind Mr. Fielding!" cried May, weeping on Mr.
Fielding's shoulder; "I hope Heavenly Father will bless you for your
kind intentions to a friendless orphan; but, indeed, sir, I cannot
say--I don't think it would suit me to be dependent."

"Who wants you to be dependent?" roared out Mr. Fielding; "I'll _hire_
you, if that will suit you better, to keep house, mend my stockings,
and make tea for me; _that_ will board you, and your splendid annuity
will clothe you."

"I will tell you in a few days, sir. I have not quite decided what I
shall do. I am so tossed and worried now I can think of nothing
clearly," sobbed May.

"Let us go down, sir, and go on with the business which brought us
here," said Mr. Fielding, while he lifted May's head gently up from his
shoulder. "Whatever you decide on, May Brooke, remember that I am
_your protector_, _defender_, and _friend_."

And so May was blamed for the loss of the will. Grieving more for the
solid benefits which were lost to the poor and destitute,--for the alms
which would have sent up incense to heaven in behalf of the soul of the